Widow's Bite
by ParamoreXO
Summary: "Who's gonna tell? It's just you, me, and the dead guy."


She was sly and evasive, the very embodiment of the world's finest vanishing act and a stage magician's dream. The instant her breath perfumed the air, however, her position was compromised. One long and steady inhale confirmed it: he could taste her in the air. Her flavor was of pennies, the liquid copper of fresh blood.

"Come on out, Nat."

Complying, the Black Widow manipulated her body through the web of warehouse rafters, gliding through the air like spilt ink until she pounced on the cement floor soundlessly. Her movements were always so fluid, one could almost say she was graceful. The smattering of blood, the aftermath of a rich vein exploding in her face, in the corner of her busted lip reminded him that she had too much edge for such angelic movements. Swift, fast, and blindingly mesmerizing, she could've been a murderous blitzkrieg.

The bloodstain gushed with her piqued words, painting her skin even brighter, "No using names on the field, Hawkeye."

Easing the muscular tension off his bow, Clint Barton folded the collapsible weapon as a smirk contorted his visage. Seeing her bristle at this gesture, noting the way the fabric of her suit scrunched with her tensed shoulders and the sharp motion of her knitting brows, only made it spread wider. "Who's gonna tell? It's just you, me, and the dead guy." He gestured with his bow towards the splintered, oozing carcass staining the pavement before clipping it onto his utility belt.

The scarlet haired assassin didn't even bother to flick a glance towards the lifeless piece of human. Hawkeye had hit the bulls-eye with a remarkable shot and she had lodged a bullet in the guy's skull with the kick of her Widow's Bite. Her wrist cartridges still felt warm from the blast. He was, without a doubt, dead. Still, she knew people that would be more than willing to bend their ears towards this type of information and she wasn't about to take that risk. "The place is bugged."

He patted a specific bulge in his belt, the contents jingling with its recent use, "Electromagnetic pulse took care of that."

Right. No bugs, no comm links, and a dead body. They were truly alone.

"So, while we wait for the pulse to wear off, now would be a good time to tell me what's bothering you."

The bright pigment of her eyes intensified at the full comprehension of his words. When their gazes collided, the impact of his stare nearly fractured her calm and collected façade. She knew in full that he wasn't even attempting to extract an explanation from her, but _damn him_ for calling her out. He knew what was wrong. During their time as partners, they'd both picked up on each other's mannerisms. They'd become so predictable to each other, at least where they stood on battleground, in order to build up such a successful partnership and even deeper friendship. She knew that the answer had already formed in his mind before he'd even verbalized his question. This was all for her.

"During the Avengers ordeal with Loki," she began slowly, yet deliberately, giving him enough time to dissect every word. "After you regained control from that thing that unmade you… I know that I can't guarantee a thing like that not happening again given our line of duty, but I don't want to feel like I did then."

Letting the soles of his combat boots pad against the cold floor, he stepped closer to her. His voice lowered to a velvety lull, "How did you feel?"

"I felt a lot of things," she admitted, crossing her arms just beneath the zipper of her suit. "We both know that I can take care of myself, but being without my partner… Well, I couldn't help but feel misplaced… Lost…"

Suddenly, the warmth of his flesh is tenderly pressed against her lips. Despite the gentle care, the texture of the pad of his finger is calloused and rugged. He's careful to wipe the crusting blood away from her plump folds. When he pulls away, she prods at his treatment with her tongue. The flavor isn't nearly as strong, but she can taste the vital fluid's mark. There's something else that's mixed in with the concoction, however. She can taste his fingerprint etched into her lingering smear of lip gloss.

"We're more dangerous than before, 'Tash. We've been damaged in ways that would break most people." Lightly trailing his bloodied finger along her jaw, he skims it under her chin and gingerly takes hold there, angling her face towards his to make sure that she understands him thoroughly. "But we're not most people."

"No," she agrees with a puff of breath that barely slips past her mouth, "We're not."

Just before the pulse is back online, before the static in his ear signals S.H.I.E.L.D.s reconnection with the comm links, he's able to have the final say in this moment they're having. "And because we're so damaged, we know that we can survive."

The look in her eyes tells him that she understands. They will always be hopelessly flawed and deeply scarred. For now, his words are able to bandage her up, whether that be to absorb the pain or conceal it, and it's enough.


End file.
